


Another Sleep

by The_Amarathine_Carrion



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Eggpreg, Incest, Intersex Genitalia, Knotting, M/M, Monsterfucking I guess because Hypnos has transformation abilities, Oral Sex, Oviposition, Size Difference, Somnophilia, Wombfucking, and no way in Hades am I sleeping on that, brief mention of milkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27609659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Amarathine_Carrion/pseuds/The_Amarathine_Carrion
Summary: “Here he is—the picture of obedience—tilted jaw framed by messy curls. The rush of humiliation and the glow of submission, rooted in high, hushed breaths of helplessness. All from the pressure of his palm into the darning of his hand. All Charon’s for the taking.”
Relationships: Charon/Hypnos (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116





	Another Sleep

There are times when Thanatos returns Zagreus to the House of Hades and Hypnos is not there to greet him. His plush, ornate chair in the great hall is empty, leaving the hall to it’s somber ambiance. Bottles of his favorite wine remain in the corner of the lounge, full and untouched. The fields of poppies by his cave blow only in clusters of their own. 

It is not an uncommon behavior, for a god to vanish under unknown circumstances. A forgivable offense, when they are amenable upon return. Lord Hades gives little thought to his location with his own son to temper, and Hypnos certainly continues to uphold his work from the shadows. His power is increased there. No one is more adept at hiding than Sleep when he so wishes to stay his presence. 

Only one deity can always find him, no matter how distantly he drifts. The resident psychopomp, Charon. If anyone knew where to look, it would not be far. The resounding answer to their speculations is that Hypnos lingers by his side.

Their connection is a strange one. A sharp one. A liaison which would shock onlookers with the merit of their symmetry. The two brothers are a complementary company to keep. Charon cannot speak, or he has forgotten how to speak, and by either reality Hypnos serves as his mouthpiece. 

Serve him he does, with a demeanor liberal and sincere. Legs wrapped around Charon’s middle, flushed cheeks bunched at the sides of his elder’s jaw, Hypnos tells audacious tales that stall the shivers from rattling notches down his spine. The humid air brings a raspy timbre to his narrative. He pauses intermittently as the boat sways, feeding Charon ambrosia with every twist of their tongues. 

There are too many moments like these, where Charon can hardly keep his focus paddling. 

Hypnos is exceptionally beautiful, half-shrouded under the Stygian glint of the river. A sedative vision that no legend could pay justice to. With fuming ears, Charon listens to the talkative temptress tease the clothes from his body, a process slower than the stream of words that desperately need to be fucked out into pleading and pleasured groans. The trademark extravagant red coat is discarded—truthfully, Hypnos often arrives without it—so the drowsy godling can move a hand underneath his skirts and brush against his ambiguous sex, considering what form he will take once he is nude. His cold, pale-blue skin changes to accommodate the heat of lust through repetitive, insistent strokes. By the time Charon notices enough to brush four golden knuckles across the width of his neck, Hypnos is illuminated by an internal hearth. 

Skillfully, Charon helps Hypnos remove the last of his layers as he keeps one eye on the boiling river below them and continues to row. 

It’s lonely work, to be a ferryman. Traversing the boundaries, he comes across countless souls, and more often than not he comes across them alone. Charon lives under the conditions of constant motion, until the end of all things it seems, gnarled hands sweeping the oar through blood and darkness in the same fashion as humans do with their shovels piercing dirt. 

So, he indulges in what he can, and he doesn’t feel guilt for it. The fools who come without payment for their passage he turns away—with their false words and false coins, weighing down their tongues and the sockets of their eyes. He does so enjoy keeping them as a souvenir.

Charon loves the idea of owning someone—willingly and solely—and of having them owe him. Certainly, this is how their relationship started. Charon’s brother—his Hypnos—who was always his to have. Hypnos, who tumbled into being with stardust-shut eyes and a lackadaisical smile. Hypnos, who without fail chased after his boat each instance he saw it, floating over the river Lethe to sit on its edge, giggling whenever Charon grunted at him for skimming his toes too close. Hypnos, who did not run from Charon when the rot took the beauty of his face and soured his phlegmatic personality. There is a debt to be paid in a great many years of heartache. Charon is a collector of exquisite treasures, through and through. 

Charon only needs to know three things when it comes to pleasing Hypnos—three absolutes.

First—Hypnos’s favorite word to choke on is the crisp, consistent crack of the “ _Kh_ ” at the front of Charon’s name. An ancient spelling, indistinguishable by sound alone, but Charon _knows_ what Hypnos means by the ichor spilling from the cracks in his eyes. It is that light that guides Charon in a shared comfort of total darkness, a devotion which does not drag him from the identity he was born to bear but rather recognizes the importance of the journey, and joins him in expedition. 

Second—He only truly shuts up when there’s a cock in his mouth. Hypnos has an insatiable oral fixation—always did. During their infancy, Charon watched over the twin Gods, and specifically recalls Hypnos pushing Thanatos aside to suckle fiercely at Nyx's breasts. These days, Hypnos’s tongue offers mischief first as a reprieve, then begs for his own release in the same breath. 

Third—Hypnos loves to come in his sleep. It’s a game now that they play, how many times Charon can watch Hypnos’s hole tighten and dribble slick down his fingers or his cock. The amount is increasing, little by little, a sure sign that they are becoming closer, stronger, more of the same.

Chaos is the only one who can follow them, where it is they go. 

Their den is, as Hypnos has so candidly put it, nothing to sneeze at. Small, sybaritic, and secluded—precisely as Charon prefers. Most importantly, it is _theirs_ , together, a secret haven where Hypnos soaks in the affection of true acceptance, and Charon can find peace within himself to rest.

Hypnos’s only insistence was that he dress the bed with unique adornments—plush, downy comforters and pillows lighter than goose feathers. That was firm. It was also fair. Much of his time was spent writhing on it. 

Impatience leads Hypnos to the center, preemptively loud and lewd, putting on a show of stretching his thighs around a large, round pillow, rutting and rocking away while Charon disrobes. The silent ferryman pauses, watching Hypnos roll his small cock between his fingers. He digs his knees into the black satin sheets with his twitching, glistening hole arched in perfect presentation. 

Charon does so enjoy this part. The exponential anticipation that arises. The distraught neediness. The compulsory desire to surrender control.

“ _Kh—Kharon!”_ Hypnos sounds like he is about to shriek. That’s how Charon knows he is exaggerating. His true arousal is much less dramatic. “ _F-Fuck ohhhh Kharon hurry up! You always keep me waiting—I need you now!”_

Charon grunts, and tries to take his time approaching. As more of his brother comes into focus he agrees it is a sight to behold. Hypnos is constantly shifting his body into interesting creatures Charon can‘t claim he doesn’t fantasize about on the job, seeking to create the perfect chimera. He’s the kinkier of the two of them, and wholly convinced that he can bring out the beast in Charon with the right appearance. He is also an insatiable nympho and a glutton for punishment. 

Tonight is the most tempting transformation yet.

 _You really did it._ Charon wishes to say. He lets the swirl of purple miasma leaking from the void of his mouth pay the compliment instead. _You remembered._

The aphrodisiac smoke takes immediate effect. Hypnos collapses, rolling first to his side, then onto his back, cock rising toward his stomach, brushing multiple inches under his belly button. He’s shrunken to a form that could only be called petite and elegant, small shoulders and collarbones shimmering with golden freckles. His slim, angled waist jerks provocatively, thighs wet and sensitive, reacting to the slide of Charon’s hands with an eager shuffle. Charon crawls closer, observing the remainder of Hypnos’ metamorphosis, biting his hunger away for both their sakes, lest he break what fragile sanity he has left. 

“ _I need you now.”_ Hypnos repeats dreamily. His eyelids are heavy, gaze turned toward the hand that drifts to cover his delicate neck, tongue eager to be depressed by the thumb that gathers drool caught in the corner of his slanted lips. 

_Of course._

Hypnos touches what areas Charon does not, highlighting what’s next on his list to explore. Thumb and forefinger pinch, then glide, over dainty, rose-dust nipples. His breasts are small, but swollen with some sweet-tasting milk that Charon relishes, supple drops which become rings of fire in his belly. Hypnos’ skin is smooth, but it burns in an electric hum, and leaves a static buzz on Charon’s tongue like ripened pineapple. 

Charon moves his mouth downward still.

There’s an enthusiastic response in the act of all but Hypnos’ fingers falling slack. Charon’s hair is immediately fisted to help him along. Tendrils of silken white waves pool across Hypnos’ navel, then his hips, both precursor and antecedent to Charon’s lips. Hypnos’s cock drips a welcome invitation from the tip, easily swallowed. The glide to the back of his throat feels to Charon as natural as breathing. It’s no distraction from what he truly wishes to taste. 

Hypnos’ pussy is plump when Charon reaches it, juices guiding his fingers inside where it’s unimaginably warm and tight. He wiggles them inside, testing the limits, before he inserts another that causes the series of sighs to tumble into a chorus of _please, more, more_. 

Here he is—the picture of obedience—tilted jaw framed by messy curls. The rush of humiliation and the glow of submission, rooted in high, hushed breaths of helplessness. All from the pressure of his palm into the darning of his hand. All Charon’s for the taking. 

He releases Hypnos’ cock with a slick pop, kissing down the shaft, before letting his long smooth tongue flatten to drag between the lips of Hypnos’ pussy. 

_Oh, how divine is his feast tonight._ All of Hypnos’ being morphs to meet his every desire. It’s easier than cutting through air for Charon to lift him, to bend him backward and cradle his spine, to continue on to his pulsing, greedy little hole, then pass it over to slither inside the second one.

Hypnos’ eyes bulge, overtaking his inertia. He gyrates uselessly, only managing to fuck himself down deeper on Charon’s tongue, which thickens and widens with every inch. 

“ _Deep—oh—fuck! H-how are you so good at that? Every time...ever-y time you—”_

Charon mumbles something far from what he intends, forgetting that he is surely incapable of making any sense, so thoroughly shaken as he is within their vibrations. Had he the proper words and ability to praise Hypnos, he would. He doesn’t want to pull back to breathe, especially when Hypnos tugs at his hair and begs him to resume curling and sliding around in his holes, scooping wet, lewd sounds out to join their moans. 

Charon’s cock is agonizingly hard and becoming increasingly difficult to forbear. It doesn’t help that Hypnos is, once again, incurably impatient. His toes extend, twitching feet curling at the prospect of his prize, reaching for what lies beyond his jurisdiction. Charon bends him further, spanking him three times—in quick succession—for even attempting to touch it.

Naughty brat really did require some verbal discipline. Thanatos’ sharp yet saccharine tongue would do well here. _Slowly—_ The caretaker of death would say. _Slowly, and let me have you._

Slowly is the game. Slowly is the lesson. Slowly is the reward.

Hypnos’ consciousness is shallow, but the call of his body is not. Further and further Charon’s tongue searches him—devours him. Slick splatters from the insistent movement of the fingers working his walls into a fluttering frenzy, dripping down Charon’s face as the poor depraved whore tugs futilely at his cock and cries. Ivory, magnificent horns twist from his forehead, red gem glistening from the middle, parting his bangs, brimming with a soothing energy. He resembles the omnipotence of Chaos now—creator of their universe—and what it’s doing to Charon is something incorrigible. It is something to be consumed with an uninhibited passion. Something to be utterly demolished—disintegrated, and reborn. 

He doesn’t get a warning. Charon splits Hypnos open on his colossal cock, smacking Hypnos’ hand away to take over and jerk him off without mercy. He lets Hypnos sink on his own accord, closing his eyes to fully experience the gift of gravity working in his favor with each millimeter. 

Hypnos’ head falls forward once it’s about halfway in. His chest lifts with a snore. Sleeping so soon during sex is a compliment to Charon’s abilities. Sleep is the state Hypnos falls into when he’s most comfortable. He’s most comfortable when Charon fucks him, fast and hard, a hole to dump however many loads he cares to create into. 

He’s certainly not going to stop. Hypnos would wake to curse him if he hesitated. Death, and what lies beyond death, would not be enough to stop either of them now. 

As Hypnos’ cunt approaches Charon’s knot, the distinct outline of Charon’s cock makes its first appearance. Charon holds him still to admire it, pulling back and pushing in just the slightest, to watch it disappear then re-emerge. 

_Intoxicating._

Hypnos remains comatose as the protruding cock continues to rearrange his insides. More and more can be seen poking and prodding under the skin as Charon fucks the engorged knot higher up inside of him, halting only for the lapse of a single gasp when he hears the firm smack of his balls hitting Hypnos’ ass and feels something enveloping him in a dense, snug heat.

Charon pushes steadily against Hypnos’ rim until he’s positive they’re both aching, thumbing at the rounded bulge in his brother’s stomach. He isn’t imagining it.

Hypnos has a womb. An open womb. One that draws Charon in and ties him there like a coin purse. One that squeezes the life from him without apology. 

He’s so lightheaded from elation that it makes him queasy. Rubbing his hand over the impression, he marvels at the thin layers of skin that are the only thing that separates his cock from his palm. It is a thrilling experience—akin to masturbation and sex in simultaneous execution. Hypnos murmurs happily in his sleep, sloppy pussy gushing in steady squirts. Charon grabs his horns for leverage as he grinds their hips together. He’s deep as can be, swelling— _swelling—_ the pressure of his brother’s orgasms drawing his heavy balls upward, moments from release.

There’s a process to endure before he does—and what ensues is not an ability he began with. Charon has visited Chaos’ realm on multiple occasions—often, in fact, to exchange wandering spirits and vials of ambrosia. In return, he received a rather unorthodox boon.

A gift, and likewise a curse, for any method of fertility is lost on one tasked to an essentially solitary existence. Not a single entity Charon has delivered to their eternity is deemed worthy of such union. Charon has thus remained childless, but with Hypnos he can conceive of such a future—were he to accept his clutch.

The eggs that flood into his knot throb and threaten to dislodge. Hypnos’ womb is a plush, encompassing warmth, unique as the deity who owns it. Charon groans and rocks, shaking his brother’s shoulders to alert him, but he is unsure now that he can prevent the risk, and besides, the way Hypnos whines and curls in closer persists to encourage it. 

Charon brings his elbows forward to pivot in the gap between Hypnos’ shoulders and uncovered, triangular ears, shuddering through a wave of indescribable sensation as the first few eggs push through his slit and drop directly into Hypnos’ womb. Hypnos’ eyes snap open, mouth wide in a surprised squeak. Charon is quick to cover the sequence of moans with a firm palm, watching in awe as Hypnos inflates, waving his arms and legs in a lethargic attempt to claw at Charon and pull his brother down to smother him entirely. 

It is then that Charon can truly appreciate the difference of their size. He drags his nose down in a line, beginning at the sweat beading on Hypnos’ forehead, thrumming with the thrill of devotion, drinking in every shiver and corresponding squirm. His hand strays, decorous with spit that he spreads across Hypnos’ neck as he kisses him. This style of release is unprecedented and overwhelming for the both of them. Languid and thick, the eggs continue to come and Hypnos continues to expand, larger and louder, arching elegantly into a sobbing, immaculate mess. 

Charon wails alongside him. Miasma bubbles out of his mouth in greater volume and consistency, matching the peak of his arousal. Hypnos coughs, tears flowing in rivulets down his face, utterly flustered and out of means to express it. His heart pounds furiously where it is pressed into Charon’s chest, thrashing as if they were stumbling through an emergency, so close to escape and yet, closer still to embracing the blackness of forever. 

Hypnos’ stomach is so distended Charon can feel it straining into his own like a curved barbell. There’s nothing left to be done but to accept the fate. That, and to wonder, what is next? How long would Hypnos carry them? A millennia? Two? What manner of being(s) would be birthed? Especially considering the transfiguration Hypnos has undergone—what effects may be permanent? 

The imagery of Hypnos, hovering in the halls of their master, swollen with his offspring while he is away gathering strangers, summons a possessive growl from the depths of Charon’s guts. No one, god or otherwise, must be allowed to think they can take this destiny from them.

His lover yawns, patting around his fullness until he finds Charon’s arm and finally smiles, nuzzling it beside his fragrant antlers. A few minutes of soft petting and Hypnos’ breathing begins to settle. Charon’s knot recedes as it pumps the last of the semen-coated eggs and it is deemed safe for him to ease out. He stops at multiple points to memorize the sight of Hypnos’ pink, puffed up lips cushioning the pull and the inordinate amount of come that freely splashes afterward from his hole. 

By the time Charon finds himself shoving globs of it back inside on an archaic, wild reflex, Hypnos is out cold again. Exhausted, shivering in the aftermath of his breeding, he soundlessly forms the letters of Charon’s name, to seal it within his dreams. Charon buries Hypnos in his shawl, in his body, in his bones. Each bearing the other as their keepsake, irreplaceable to their immortal souls. Forehead to forehead, like this, he succumbs to another sleep. 

Let tomorrow dictate his diligence. Come what may.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [twitter](http://twitter.com/thefriedpipes) that is multi-fandom and would love more people to talk to about Hades!


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